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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23888251">Here amongst the living, you are flesh and blood</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrotjus/pseuds/carrotjus'>carrotjus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A Tad Bit of Humor, Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt No Comfort, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Sad Ending, they break up here too</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:47:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,286</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23888251</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrotjus/pseuds/carrotjus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He decides he shall be called Jaskier, like the flowers he has long loved from up above.</em>
</p>
<p>or in which the bard is Destiny.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>248</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Here amongst the living, you are flesh and blood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Destiny—contrary to popular beliefs—is not a single entity. Their souls change when the centuries do and at times, their forms too. But all the same, they are Destiny.</p>
<p>In the year 1200, Destiny comes in the form of a bard with a soul as blinding as the sun.</p>
<p>Destiny wakes up to find himself splayed on a cliff just as the sun begins to dip into the horizon. He is as naked as humans would be on the day they were born, he discovers and Destiny almost laughs.</p>
<p>He sits up and breathes in the air as humans would. His stomach growls, hungry as humans should.</p>
<p>He does not find it funny anymore.</p>
<p>He finds it exhilarating.</p>
<p><em>Jaskier</em>, he decides. He shall be called Jaskier much like the flowers he has long loved from up above.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The year is 1239 when Jaskier meets his white wolf.</p>
<p>He is strumming a jovial tune in a spiritless tavern when his eyes land on stark white hair and black armour. The man silently broods in one dark corner of the tavern, right hand gripping a tankard so tight that his knuckles are turning white.</p>
<p>When amber eyes flicker to where he stands for one brief moment, Jaskier feels a shiver runs down his spine.</p>
<p>His fingers still.</p>
<p>A stale bread hits his head.</p>
<p>“Oi,” he calls as the tavern-goers bark out thunderous laughter. “Laugh all you want now, but when I’m famous all of you will be begging for me to sing for you,” he grumbles, narrowing his eyes at them before bending down to pick up the stale bread.</p>
<p>Unfortunately for him, coins are as hard for him to earn as it is for humans.</p>
<p>So he eats stale breads and spotted vegetables.</p>
<p>His eyes return to the bulky figure as he straightens up. He ponders, for a moment, if it is wise for him to meddle a little more in mortal affairs. Then, he decides, Destiny can wait. As he trudges toward the Witcher, he is Jaskier. He is nothing more than a bard.</p>
<p>“I love how you just sit there and brood,” he says by way of greeting.</p>
<p>He does not take a peek at the Witcher’s destiny.</p>
<p>He does not nudge the Witcher into a certain path.</p>
<p>He waits and allows the man to decide his own fate.</p>
<p>For as he stands there, hands on his hips with a smile carved onto his face at the mere sight of the white-haired warrior, he is nothing but a bard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His name is Geralt. Incredibly grumpy and undoubtedly broody, Geralt of Rivia.</p>
<p>Jaskier writes songs for the Witcher as he travels beside him. Songs that pay for their warm meals and even warmer beds.</p>
<p>But sometimes, on days such as this, Geralt prefers to be surrounded by nature. Days when humans are more monstrous than they appear to be.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he blurts out into the heavy silence that binds itself around them.</p>
<p>They had merely been passing through Blaviken, stopping only to buy supplies but even that had been a second far too long spent in that town. The townspeople had thrown rocks, spat, scratched his exposed skin and yelled filthy insults at Geralt.</p>
<p>Jaskier manages to escape with sore spots that will surely bruise and few stinging scratches. All in all, he is relatively fine but the same cannot be said for his companion. Even from afar, he can make out the blood seeping out of deep wounds littering Geralt’s body and face.</p>
<p>“I’m really sorry,” he repeats when the silence stretches. He moves closer to where Geralt sits, near the fire and he waits.</p>
<p>Jaskier knows what he is apologizing for. Though he may not have been directly involved, he still remains the orchestrator for the simple fact that he is not just a bard, he is not just Jaskier but he is also Destiny.</p>
<p>But of course, Geralt does not know this because Jaskier has made sure of the fact day by day as they travel together. So, the Witcher says, “It’s not your doing.”</p>
<p>And Jaskier hangs his head in shame but he keeps walking alongside the Witcher until the day comes when guilt drags him into the earth and he can walk no longer.</p>
<p>Only then does he part ways with the Witcher, uttering a poor excuse to which he receives an unquestioning hum from Geralt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It is perhaps four months later—or it could just as easily be an entire year. Time is a trifling thing for him—when he finds Geralt again.</p>
<p>He is bolder now.</p>
<p>He understands that although he carves destinies of the mortals, they still choose their own path.</p>
<p>He is not at fault. He is not guilty.</p>
<p>Not entirely, at the very least.</p>
<p>He is singing, walking and strumming his lute altogether when his eyes catch the familiar hulking figure amidst the sea of people in the market. He calls out to the Witcher with a joyous laugh, heart warming in his chest as his feet bring him closer.</p>
<p>Oh, how Jaskier has missed him.</p>
<p>“Fancy seeing you here,” he says.</p>
<p>Geralt barely shoots him a glance when the bard sidles up to him. He replies, “There are more monsters on this side of the Continent.”</p>
<p>“You’re running low on coins, then?” When Geralt only grunts in response, he continues, “So, how about you do me this one very little, very tiny, <em>tiny</em> thing and—“</p>
<p>“What is it this time, Jaskier?”</p>
<p>For a beat, he hesitates. “All I’m asking is for you to guard me for one night to a royal feast.”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>He huffs and watches as the Witcher continues through the market without him. Then, desperately, he calls out, “Food, women and wine, Geralt!”</p>
<p>And that catches the man’s attention alright.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He catches a glimpse of Urcheon’s branched paths mere minutes before the man himself stumbles into the hall, asking to claim his law of surprise thus leaving his destiny to follow a single path. From that point onward, the royal feast Jaskier has been looking forward to turns sour just as quickly as time passes for him.</p>
<p>“Honour Destiny’s wish or have it unleash its wrath upon us,” Mousesack tells the queen and he does not cower when she shoots him a glare.</p>
<p>Jaskier stands by a pillar, hands clenched into fists and jaw tight. He does not want to be here and yet, he is curious of how the mortals will treat him.</p>
<p>“Is there amongst you who does not cower before Destiny?” Calanthe calls to the crowd, her voice firm and challenging. Then, her gaze settles on Geralt. “You, Witcher… Are you afraid?”</p>
<p>“No,” Geralt answers, simply.</p>
<p>And Jaskier is not angry because he has seen the kind of monsters the white wolf faces every day.</p>
<p>“Destiny helps people believe there’s an order to this horseshit.”</p>
<p>He stays by the pillar as a fight breaks out. He watches as one after the other, mortals make their choices and seal their destinies. <strike>Jaskier</strike> Destiny <em>does</em> actually instil order despite Geralt’s insistence but that wrath Mousesack talks about is never his own, never Destiny’s. They are merely consequences of humankind’s actions as a whole.</p>
<p>But it is easier for mortals to blame Destiny, he knows this.</p>
<p>Yet, to be blamed does not pain him as much as being entirely denied by the one mortal that matters to him.</p>
<p>For the first time since their companionship begins, he takes a peek at the Witcher’s destiny.</p>
<p>And when the Witcher invokes the law of surprise, carelessly tossing his words out into the air as if he is only ordering another tankard of ale, Jaskier turns to leave right as Geralt spits, “Destiny can go fu—“</p>
<p>Vomit spatters the floor and he is gone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He does not return to Geralt’s side.</p>
<p>Not for a long time.</p>
<p>Then, when they finally meet again, it is not him who seeks the Witcher but instead the Witcher who scours the land for him. Geralt searches every tavern in every town for him until he stumbles upon Jaskier in the woods, splayed out next to a fire and staring up at the pink evening sky.</p>
<p>“Jaskier,” he hears the familiar voice breathes out his name. There is heavy relief that comes with it, he notices and when he glances at the approaching figure, he does not miss the way the corners of those lips tilt up.</p>
<p>“Geralt,” he nods at the other man as he sits up.</p>
<p>“You left Cintra abruptly. I didn’t hear of you for days,” Geralt says as he sits in the empty space next to him. Then, quieter, “I thought you were dead, Jaskier.”</p>
<p>“I thought you’d be happy to finally be rid of me.”</p>
<p>Geralt grunts and stokes the fire. “You avoided me for two years,” he says and when Jaskier begins to splutter at the statement, Geralt only shakes his head at him. “I know you did. Did I anger you in some way?”</p>
<p>For a long while, Jaskier keeps quiet.</p>
<p>“Did you comb through the entire Continent to find me?” he jokes.</p>
<p>“More or less.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” he stills, eyes drifting from the fire to Geralt once more. “Why?”</p>
<p>He does not think that Geralt would even think to look for him because why would he? Jaskier is nothing more than a pest to the Witcher. As a bard and as Destiny. So, when he left Cintra, he thought it would not be wise of him to meddle in mortal affairs any more than he already has, especially if the mortal is none other than Destiny-hating Geralt of Rivia.</p>
<p>“You are my…” Geralt pauses, face screwing up as if there is something sour in his mouth.</p>
<p>Jaskier laughs, loud and gleeful. “Friend?” he offers.</p>
<p>Geralt nods, blowing out a breath. He hesitates for a moment, then says, “I haven’t been the kindest to you—“</p>
<p>“Definitely agree with that,” he cuts in. “You said my singing is shite and that I talk too much when I’m only pointing out the great wonders of the world to you, Gera—“</p>
<p>“I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>Jaskier is stunned into absolute silence. Then, he smiles and gently pats the Witcher.</p>
<p>“We’re okay, Geralt.”</p>
<p>Amber eyes take him in, soft and vulnerable in the firelight.</p>
<p>“Will you sing for me?” he whispers it so quietly that Jaskier almost misses it.</p>
<p>“Of course,” he says, warmth spreading through his heart. “I’d love to.”</p>
<p>And Jaskier thinks, he can afford to meddle in the affairs of the Witcher just a little while longer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They travel down south to Kaedwen and this time, he notices how Geralt is much gentler. He notices how Geralt exchanges sharp insults for fondly exasperated sighs. He notices how Geralt pretends not to notice him braiding flowers into Roach’s mane. He <em>definitely</em> notices the light touches to his shoulders, his forehead, his arms.</p>
<p>He tells himself that this does not change anything.</p>
<p>And he repeats the thought again and again like a mantra.</p>
<p>Ha, how very mortal of him to do nothing but deny the truth.</p>
<p>“Tell me,” he says aloud, fingers still mindlessly strumming his lute as they walk into a bustling village. He asks, “What had you chan—“</p>
<p>Geralt blows out an annoyed huff when a merchant passes them only to spit at his boots. To his right, Roach snorts nervously and to his left, Jaskier is already spinning around to face the merchant, face scrunching up in anger.</p>
<p>“Oi!” Jaskier calls out and his hands are gripping onto the neck of his lute, ready to swing it if need be. “Do you have <em>any</em> idea of what the Witcher’s done to keep your ungrateful arse roam the fucking Continent?”</p>
<p>He growls the words out because he definitely <em>did not</em> spend nights in cramped taverns, singing praises for the white wolf only to have the mortals spit at Geralt.</p>
<p>Next to him, the Witcher grunts. “Jaskier, leave it.”</p>
<p>“You want to fight, then, you useless bard?”</p>
<p>Geralt grips onto the scruff of his doublet, making him stumble a few steps back rather than forward but not before he is able to spit back at the merchant.</p>
<p>“<em>Jaskier</em>.”</p>
<p>It is a steely warning and whatever insult he is about to say, dies immediately at the tip of his tongue. He clenches his jaw shut and glares at the merchant.</p>
<p>“Leave,” Geralt tells the man before continuing toward the inn again, pulling Jaskier along.</p>
<p>“I could’ve won against him,” he huffs, struggling against the strong grip on his clothes.</p>
<p>“Sure,” the Witcher snorts, still pulling him along like a ragdoll.</p>
<p>“I <em>could’ve</em> if you’d <em>let</em> me, Geralt. I have muscles too, you know. I’m not your damse—“</p>
<p>He trips on his own foot and his hands shoot out for something to hold onto when a steady hand rests itself on his chest before the ground could kiss his face. He blows out a breath.</p>
<p>“You were saying?”</p>
<p>Jaskier huffs once more and hastily extracts himself from the other man.</p>
<p>“Don’t talk to me. I want to sulk,” he grumbles, almost petulantly.</p>
<p>Geralt raises his brows at him and he does not miss the amusement glinting in those amber eyes before he stalks off on his own for the inn.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you still sulking?”</p>
<p>He grunts into the tankard of ale in his hand.</p>
<p>“I have a contract.”</p>
<p>Jaskier splutters, sets his tankard aside and stares at the Witcher. Sulking be damned when there is a chance for him to cultivate enough inspiration for a new melody. “What is it?” he asks. “Big scary monsters? Wicked witches? Horrendous humans?”</p>
<p>This time, it is Geralt who grunts. “Glad to have you back,” he comments, eyes taking in the people in the tavern before they fall on him again.</p>
<p>“Well?” he pushes when the Witcher mentions no more. “What’s the contract for?”</p>
<p>“Monsters, probably,” Geralt murmurs as he takes the vacant sit across from Jaskier. “The Villagers saying that it only takes the youngins. Countless monsters prefer youngbloods, maybe this one is just pickier.”</p>
<p>He hums thoughtfully.</p>
<p>“Will you come?”</p>
<p>“Wait, you <em>want</em> me to come?” When the Witcher only nods, he pokes further. “Why?”</p>
<p>There is a stretch of silence between them and then, it clicks.</p>
<p>“Oh no no <em>no</em>, I will <em>not</em> be your bait. The last time that happened I ended up ripping my—Melitele rest her soul, my beautiful yellow doublet.”</p>
<p>“You also badly injured your ankle,” Geralt adds and has the audacity to not look the least bit apologetic about any of it.</p>
<p>“My swollen ankle healed just fine but I can’t say the same for my doublet,” he scoffs. “So, if I’m to voluntarily be at the mercy of another monster yet again, I want some sort of payment.”</p>
<p>Geralt sighs and rolls his eyes in return. “You were <em>not</em> at the mercy of a monster but fine,” he says. “You get the bed for the rest of our stay in this village.”</p>
<p>“That’s fair enough.”</p>
<p>“Good. We’re going now.”</p>
<p>“Wait, hold on,” he calls out, eyes darting from Geralt’s departing figure to the windows and back again. “It’s almost dark out!”</p>
<p>“That’s when they’re most active,” the other man hums.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So, this <em>thing</em>—whatever it is, is stealing babes and <em>I</em> am the bait… why, exactly?”</p>
<p>The Witcher leads them both deeper into the forest as the sun dips further into the horizon, casting an almost eerie glow upon their figures. It is awfully quiet as they trudge on, making the sounds of snapping twigs and rustling leaves unusually loud in his ears. Whatever dwells in this forest has definitely scared the animals and insects away, he thinks.</p>
<p>“Because you’re still young,” Geralt states, simply.</p>
<p>He breathes out a small laugh. Well, that is very much debatable. “I’m not <em>that</em> young. I’m not a babe, Geralt, in case you’ve failed to notice.”</p>
<p>“Before it started hunting babes, it took a couple of villagers your age.”</p>
<p>He hums. “Well, that’s quite nice to le—“</p>
<p>Geralt holds one hand up as he comes to a halt, silencing Jaskier.</p>
<p>A white bundle of fluff hops out of a bush to his right and Jaskier yelps, scrambling away as the rabbit disappears into another bush.</p>
<p>The other man snorts.</p>
<p>And none of them see it coming. Not even Geralt with his heightened senses.</p>
<p>Before he can bite back a retort, something from up in the trees barrels down onto him, sending him sprawling onto the forest floor and stealing the breath straight out of his lungs. His heart stutters when he finally registers the hunched figure perched on his chest, its weight crushing down on his ribs and its claws digging deep enough into his shoulders to have blood seeping into his clothes in rivulets.</p>
<p>His head spins.</p>
<p>“You smell delightful,” it whispers into his ear. Red eyes and sharp teeth stare back at him. “Like nothing I’ve ever had before.”</p>
<p>He wonders, dazedly, what would become of him if he is eaten.</p>
<p>Will he immediately return into his astral form?</p>
<p>Or will his essence be forever trapped in chunks of uneaten meat?</p>
<p>The weight is off of him faster than he can blink and then, he feels himself being pulled backwards by the scruff of his doublet at a speed that has his body flailing as he hits every bump on the ground.</p>
<p>He does not feel the pain.</p>
<p>Belatedly, his eyes register the hulking figure trying to catch up to him. He cannot make out the face but in the moonlit forest, the white strands seem to shimmer and those amber eyes seem to glow a little brighter.</p>
<p>Geralt, he thinks.</p>
<p>Then, clearer, the name comes to him once more.</p>
<p>Jaskier regains his senses with a gasp. “Ge—Geralt!” he shouts as the fog in his mind dissipates and fear clutches at his heart.</p>
<p>His hands swing back to frantically tug away the fingers clutching tightly onto his doublet. The creature hisses and for a second, his grip on it falters, then lost completely when it drags him over a particularly jagged rock.</p>
<p>He flinches violently when the sharp points rip at his breeches before puncturing into his right calf.</p>
<p>Jaskier screams.</p>
<p>His hands shake.</p>
<p>His vision glassy.</p>
<p>His breathing harsh.</p>
<p>And he just has enough wits left in him to shuck off his doublet, leaving the creature to advance further without him in its clutch.</p>
<p>He pants and his whole body trembles.</p>
<p>Then, Geralt is right next to him. Warm, calloused hands are on his face and in his hair, and he hears the familiar gruff voice, greatly muffled but he hears them just the same.</p>
<p>“I’m alright,” he wheezes. He pushes at the body, “Go catch it before it harms any—anyone else.”</p>
<p>He senses hesitation.</p>
<p>More words he cannot quite make out.</p>
<p>Then, Geralt is gone.</p>
<p>And Jaskier is left to catch his breath in the middle of the moonlit forest.</p>
<p>He throws up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jaskier wakes up with a jolt, thinking of death and decay. Once he realizes that he is laying on his front, on a warm bed, he breathes out a heavy sigh and his eyes land on the figure sitting on the floor, next to the bed with knees bent up. The Witcher seems to be nodding off.</p>
<p>“At least I still get the bed,” he says and winces at how his voice grates at his own ears.</p>
<p>“You’re awake,” Geralt sighs, eyes taking Jaskier in before a small smile tugs at the corner of those lips.</p>
<p>Geralt stands up, disappearing from his view for a long minute and Jaskier uses that time to asses himself. He first notices that his tunic is missing and his face heats up, out of embarrassment or something else entirely, he does not ponder on it. Then, he finally feels the cool leaves plastered to the wounds on his shoulders and the way a bandage has been wrapped tightly around his calf.</p>
<p>He feels numb and for that, he quietly thanks Melitele.</p>
<p>“The healer said the leaves will help your shoulders but the wound on your leg is too deep,” Geralt says when the man returns to his side with a cup of water. “Come, tilt your head up a bit.”</p>
<p>He does, straining his neck and Geralt carefully pours the liquid pass his lips.</p>
<p>He groans as the cool liquid soothes his throat, tasting fresh water and honey on his tongue.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he mumbles after draining the cup.</p>
<p>The other man grunts in reply, disappearing from his eyes once again.</p>
<p>“Did you manage to kill it?”</p>
<p>When he hears the affirmative hum, he melts further into the bed.</p>
<p>Footsteps approach him once more and he huffs out a strained laugh when Geralt finally returns, only to awkwardly stand by the bed and Jaskier pats the fraction of empty space next to him.</p>
<p>“Come lay with me,” he murmurs, eyelids already beginning to slip shut.</p>
<p>The Witcher’s face pinches. “I don’t want to jostle you.”</p>
<p>“And you won’t,” he assures and slowly scoots to make space. “Come,” he says and Geralt does.</p>
<p>Jaskier does not think too much about the warmth radiating from the other man once Geralt settles next to him. He does not think too much about how Geralt allows him to rest his chin on his broad shoulder, the Witcher’s vulnerable spot completely exposed to his teeth.</p>
<p>Alright, perhaps he thinks about it quite a little bit.</p>
<p>He lets out a content hum and drifts off surrounded by the familiar scent of thyme and peony.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They stay as such—gently tangled in each other for long years after. No words are shared because none are needed. Somehow, there exists a quiet understanding between the two of them that they are finally where they have always yearned to be.</p>
<p>Sometimes they kiss, warm and sweet, and other times, harsh breaths are shared between the walls of an inn, needy and fervent.</p>
<p>Jaskier cherishes it all the same.</p>
<p>And he forgets.</p>
<p>Forgets that he is not just a bard, not just Jaskier but also Destiny.</p>
<p>And Geralt of Rivia, for all his love and adoration toward Jaskier, hates Destiny with the same intensity.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“When you scream that it’s not fair, it’s like I’ve gone—no, no, that doesn’t sound right. It’s like I’ve <em>gone</em>,” he plucks a different string. “Yeah, alright. That sounds more like it.”</p>
<p>He stumbles with a gasp, hands losing their grip on his lute as he scrambles to clutch at his chest. It feels much like a thunderbolt going through his heart and Jaskier collapses to his knees. Black spots fill his vision and he hears Roach neighs but it sounds far away. <em>Too</em> far away.</p>
<p>Everything blackens.</p>
<p>Then, he sees them.</p>
<p>He sees an entire army marching in the night.</p>
<p>Soldiers—thousands and thousands of them, clad in armours as dark as the black sea.</p>
<p>He hears voices. A collection of them, whispering a single word in discordance.</p>
<p><strong><em>Nilfgaard</em></strong>, they say.</p>
<p>And they repeat it again and again until his brain aches and bile rises in his throat.</p>
<p>A sudden hush falls over them. Then, a single voice speaks as clear as day. A voice he knows well.</p>
<p><strong><em>Nilfgaard is coming</em></strong>, Melitele whispers.</p>
<p>His vision clears and he finds Geralt kneeling in front of him with a small frown.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” the Witcher mutters before a thumb comes up to swipe at the skin under Jaskier’s nose. The finger comes away stained with blood. “Why didn’t you tell me that you’re ill?”</p>
<p>“I’m not,” he states and bats a hand at the accusatory glare. “Just sudden bouts of dizziness.”</p>
<p>A palm rests itself on his forehead.</p>
<p>“You’re not burning up,” Geralt huffs to which Jaskier only pointedly raises a brow. “We’re staying here tonight.”</p>
<p>“Wait, hold on,” he sputters, scrambling onto his feet as soon as Geralt moves toward Roach.</p>
<p>Jaskier halts and breathes harshly through his nose, hands blindly reaching out for something to steady himself. Then, Geralt is there, pulling him in until he finds himself curling into the familiar warmth, forehead resting lightly against broad shoulder.</p>
<p>“I’m alright,” he murmurs once the black splotches in his vision fades. “We can still make it to the next village by nightfall. It’s only noon, Geralt, we’ll be wasting time if we camp now.”</p>
<p>He hears a disapproving rumble and the arms around him tighten by a fraction.</p>
<p>“Your welfare is not a waste of my time, Jaskier.”</p>
<p>“Alright,” he says when he hears the tinge of sadness in Geralt’s words. “We’ll make camp.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next time it happens, they are in Redania, just a few weeks away from their last camp and Jaskier jolts awake, wheezing.</p>
<p>A thunderbolt through his heart and he sees nothing of their rented room.</p>
<p>This time, comes the images of a girl with bright blue eyes and soft blond hair.</p>
<p>He glimpses gold and silver for a short moment before he sees Cintra burning.</p>
<p>Then, soldiers—the same ones, thousands and thousands of them.</p>
<p><strong><em>The girl in the woods</em></strong>, the same voices chant.</p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>The girl in the woods.</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>Jaskier thinks he is crying.</p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>The girl in the woods.</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>He feels the blood dripping out of his nose this time.</p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>The girl in the woods.</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>Much like before, a sudden silence falls over the voices and a single voice whispers into his mind. Gentle and yet, determined. This is a voice he does not know.</p>
<p><strong><em>The girl in the woods will be with you always</em></strong>, she says.</p>
<p>When he blinks away the bleariness, he sees Geralt in front of him while Jaskier himself is huddling in one corner of the bed that meets the wall of the room, sweating and panting.</p>
<p>Callous fingers reach out to him and gently brushes back the hair sticking to his forehead. Then, a thumb wipes away the blood and Jaskier leans into the warmth, closing his eyes. His breathing slows and he melts into the touch.</p>
<p>“That was quite a nightmare.”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t,” he whispers, shaking his head. “It wasn’t a nightmare.”</p>
<p>When he opens his eyes, Geralt is staring at him inquisitively but the other man does not ask. Geralt would wait for however long it takes for him to open up, he knows this.</p>
<p>And for a moment, he wants to tell Geralt about it all. No, not of the visions but of how he is not just Jaskier the bard. But then, he thinks of the night in Cintra, the night of Pavetta’s betrothal and his tongue is once again nailed to the roof of his mouth.</p>
<p>Geralt loves Jaskier, the bard but never Jaskier who weaves tragedies and misfortunes.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry I woke you.”</p>
<p>Geralt shakes his head with a low hum.</p>
<p>A hand pulls Jaskier down until he is flat on the bed once again, eyes mindlessly darting from the wooden beam above them to the Witcher who curls up next to him and back again.</p>
<p>“I know you’re hiding something from me, Jask,” Geralt murmurs but his voice is gentle. A confession rather than an accusation.</p>
<p>Still, Jaskier stiffens where he lays.</p>
<p>“I’ve known since we first met,” the Witcher says. “My medallion vibrates whenever you’re close enough.”</p>
<p>Of course, how foolish of him.</p>
<p>“And yo—you’re not angry?”</p>
<p>“Should I be?”</p>
<p>At that, he turns to lay on his side, facing Geralt and he sees the tenderness and care mingling in those amber eyes. His heart aches in his chest and he does not want to lose this. No matter that he is Destiny and that Geralt finds Destiny abhorrent. He does not want to lose Geralt.</p>
<p>“Perhaps,” he replies. Then, steeling himself, he asks, “Will you leave me if I tell you?”</p>
<p>Something flickers in those amber eyes but is gone before he can decipher it. For a long while, the thick silence between them chokes him.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Geralt whispers, conflicted.</p>
<p>Jaskier allows his eyes to slip shut and he rests his forehead against Geralt’s. He breathes in the strong scent of thyme and peony. For now, he will not lose this moment.</p>
<p>“Then, let me have one more night with you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When morning comes, he sifts through the timeline while Geralt is out in the stable. The visions are akin to alarm bells ringing for him as somewhere in Nilfgaard, a mortal has made a decision so critical they managed to alter Destiny’s own weaving over the entire Continent.</p>
<p>He hates when it happens because—for the lack of better word—it makes Destiny entirely helpless.</p>
<p>He finds where it all crumbles and he halts. A year from now, Nilfgaard will march from one end of the Continent to another. Nilfgaard will march to Cintra.</p>
<p>He sifts further through the timeline and sees the carnage with his own eyes. Then, not a moment later, he stops because there, tangled in death and destruction is his white wolf and belatedly, he realizes, the blue-eyed child, the Lion Cub of Cintra standing by his side.</p>
<p>The child surprise.</p>
<p>The door creaks open and Jaskier blinks it all away to find Geralt staring at him.</p>
<p>“You have to travel south,” he tells the Witcher.</p>
<p>Geralt’s face pinches in confusion. “Why would I travel south?”</p>
<p>“To claim your child surprise before Nilfgaard does.”</p>
<p>Geralt visibly tenses at the mention of the child and clenches his jaw shut. Jaskier breathes out a heavy sigh as he stands up to close the distance between them and he takes those rough hands into his, cornflower blue eyes searching amber ones in return. Geralt does not take a step back but Jaskier can feel that the Witcher is on guard, ready to pounce if need be.</p>
<p>“What the fuck are you talking about?”</p>
<p>Jaskier huffs before gesturing a hand to the bed. “Sit down, it’s easier to show you.”</p>
<p>He is glad when Geralt follows, sitting down at the very edge of the bed and looking up at him almost expectantly. “I don’t know if this will hurt,” he tells the other man. “I’ve never done this before. Do you trust me?”</p>
<p>There is a beat of silence between them before he hears a gentle affirmation.</p>
<p>Jaskier bites at the tip of his index finger hard enough to produce blood before he begins drawing the sign of Melitele—two circles arranged atop of another—onto his palm, in a single stroke.</p>
<p>“Close your eyes,” he says and covers them with the same palm once Geralt does. “<em>Oncluce pe</em>,” he whispers and almost immediately, the Witcher tenses as Jaskier allows him glimpses of the Continent’s timeline up to the invasion of Cintra. Then, he lets Geralt see his child surprise, terrified and alone in the woods as she runs in search for her own destiny.</p>
<p>When Geralt groans, he retracts his hand.</p>
<p>“What was that?” Geralt grunts, blinking a few times until he focuses on Jaskier who is kneeling in front of him.</p>
<p>“That was the destiny of the Continent,” he answers almost hesitantly as he observes Geralt’s every reaction.</p>
<p>This is it, he thinks. This might be where it ends.</p>
<p>“And what are you?”</p>
<p>He laughs but it sounds hollow even to his own ears. He settles on the floor, sitting crisscrossed with a good distance between them. “Take a wild guess, Geralt.”</p>
<p>“<em>You’re</em> Destiny?”</p>
<p>He stretches his arms out as if presenting himself to the other man and he concedes, “In the flesh.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Geralt does not talk to him as they travel out of Redania and as he follows from behind, he thinks, at least they are traveling south. At least one part of this entire mess is solved.</p>
<p>Jaskier does not sing a tune and Geralt does not speak a word, and they continue as such for days.</p>
<p>Roach huffs every now and again as if trying to resolve the palpable tension in the air and for that, Jaskier feeds the mare fruits he is able to find along the way.</p>
<p>On the fifth day, it all goes to absolute shit.</p>
<p>“Geralt,” he calls out when they stop at a clearing just as the sun begins to dip. “You have to talk to me. I know you’re angry but we have to talk about this.”</p>
<p>The Witcher’s attention turns from unsaddling the mare to where Jaskier stands and even without enhanced senses, he can smell the anger rolling off of the man.</p>
<p>“What do you want me to say?”</p>
<p>“What were you expecting from me?” he bites back as frustration envelopes him. “That—maybe, I’m just an elf hidden with a powerful glamour?”</p>
<p>“For you to not be shovelling horseshit wherever you go,” Geralt snarls and takes a step closer. “But that’s just it, isn’t it? That’s what Destiny does. That’s what <em>you</em> do.”</p>
<p>Jaskier flinches as if Geralt has landed a physical blow on him and he stumbles a step back.</p>
<p>“Was the whole damsel in distress an act too?”</p>
<p>He frowns. “No.”</p>
<p>Destiny never has that kind of power. He can determine the fate of the mortals—Melitele, even the fate of the entire Continent but granting miracles and yielding godly powers to save himself are never part of his abilities. Jaskier might as well be a full mortal when compared to other astral beings.</p>
<p>“And the child surprise, that was all on you too,” Geralt accuses.</p>
<p>At that, he snaps.</p>
<p>“Yes, I carved out the paths for every being on this Continent but I carved out thousands of them and there is <em>never</em> a single, absolute path,” he glares at the other man and stands his ground. “They made their own decisions and you made yours.”</p>
<p>“Well, then, is there a path in my destiny right now where I can take you off my hands?”</p>
<p>The question is thrown into the air so carelessly and every word sucks the breath out of him until he can feel his heart pounding in his ears.</p>
<p>“You don’t mean that,” he whispers but he already knows that it is done.</p>
<p>This is the end of the line for them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The year is 1267 when Geralt loses his bard.</p>
<p>He blinks awake earlier than usual when morning comes and he does not feel the anger he felt yesterday. In fact, Geralt feels hollow as if something is not quite right in the world—that is, of course not inclusive of the rising Nilfgaardian army and the child surprise he is to claim.</p>
<p>The sun has yet to rise fully and the sky is painted a soft milky pink that soothes him. He hears the birds twittering and his eyes flit from one tree to another, trying to find them but coming up empty handed.</p>
<p>He cannot seem to shake the unease, then and he sits up, ears straining for something out of the normal.</p>
<p>And he finally hears it—the heavy silence.</p>
<p>Even in his sleep, Jaskier is unbearably loud but right now, Geralt does not hear the familiar snores nor the sleepy mutters and his eyes immediately dart to the spot where the bard had rolled out his bedroll last night, so far from where Geralt had rolled out his own that they might as well be at opposite ends of the Continent.</p>
<p>The space is empty and he stands up to scour the clearing but it is as if Geralt has been traveling alone all this time. Everywhere his eyes land, he sees no traces of the bard, not even footsteps he could track.</p>
<p>He chokes on his breath.</p>
<p>“Jaskier,” he calls out into the woods, desperation clinging to his voice.</p>
<p>“He loves you very much, you know.”</p>
<p>His hand snatches the silver sword buried next to his bedroll and he turns to face the voice. He does not know how he had missed her the first time because there she sits on a rock, next to Roach, clear as day.</p>
<p>She wears a plain white shirt tucked into mud brown breeches and if he does not know any better, he would think she is mortal.</p>
<p>“I think you broke him,” she says with a shrug as if the words do not slap him across the face when he hears it.</p>
<p>He remembers the laughs sounding just as melodious as the singing. He remembers the touches, warm and unafraid against his scarred skin. He remembers cornflower blue eyes gleaming under the moonlight.</p>
<p>His grip tightens around the sword. “Who are you?”</p>
<p>She chuckles. “His replacement.” When he only quirks a brow in response, she rolls her eyes and adds, “Melitele does not see him fit for the duties any longer.”</p>
<p>“Melitele…” he echoes.</p>
<p>Then, she clears her throat and her eyes seem to pierce into his soul. When she speaks, her words are harsh and commanding.</p>
<p>“Travel south Geralt of Rivia. Find your child and you might yet save the Continent.”</p>
<p>He grunts and turns around, ready to pack his belongings when Geralt thinks to ask of it. He glances back, “Will he ever come back?”</p>
<p>The corner of her lips tilt downward slightly and he recognizes the pity.</p>
<p>“I’m afraid not,” she says.</p>
<p>His limbs move almost mechanically as he packs.</p>
<p>
  <strong>Is there a path in my destiny right now where I can take you off my hands?</strong>
</p>
<p>His fingers slip when they try to fasten the belts on his armour.</p>
<p>
  <strong>You don’t mean that.</strong>
</p>
<p>He thinks of the bard.</p>
<p>
  <strong>He loves you very much, you know.</strong>
</p>
<p>He thinks of Destiny.</p>
<p>
  <strong>Will you leave me if I tell you?</strong>
</p>
<p>He lets out a startled breath as everything finally sinks in.</p>
<p>At the end of it all, his love for Jaskier is never as strong as his revulsion toward Destiny.</p>
<p>Funny how they end up being one and the same.</p>
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